Sins of the Father
by Regal-Song
Summary: Prequel to: For the Sake of Family. This story is set immediately after 7x25 'Seeing Red' - "He was everything she told herself her targets never were."
1. Moonbeams and Lonely Nights

With a near inaudible creaking sound, the door that looked out onto the calm, serene family street, opened a crack. A mix of street light and moonbeam crept inside, casting a pleasent, warm glow on the sand coloured tiles that formed a path up the hall and into the much-loved kitchen; with it's wooden cabinet doors adorned with antique handles, stainless steel appliances and a woven basket perched on the end of the counter, full to the brim with apples, oranges and bananas.

One foot stepped inside, followed immediately by the other as the door closed with a click and he looked down. By the door, there was an organised shoe-rack, it's contents sorted from high-heels on the right, to flats front and centre and then sport shoes at the far end, closest to the door. Slipping off his tattered, muddy shoes, he placed them carefully beside the rack. Beside them, haphazardly lay a pair of black stillettos, no doubt kicked off in her haste though that was not her way.

In socks that left as much of a muddy mark as his shoes would have, he padded his way up the hall. He manouvered around the small pull-pony that sat on it's four little wheels by the corner of the hall, pressed up against the moss-green Fleur de Lis wallpaper. Turning his head toward the door to her bedroom, he could see it sitting ajar, something else that was entirely too out of character, but these days they were all a little out of character. All of them a little out of sorts. Feeling the warmth of the plush, off-white carpet beneath his sodden feet, he made his way through the door, letting it fall all the way open before he even set foot in the room.

Immediately his eyes fell on the back of her head. She was bundled in blankets with her head buried in an abundance of pillows that used to be shared. All that could be seen from the doorway, was a small amount of blonde hair, splayed over a champagne pillowcase and brushing up against the large dark wooden headboard. He smiled, watching her shuffle slightly under the covers, letting out a small sound that made his mouth twitch at the edges. Rounding the bed, he watched his toes as he passed the posts at the end and brushed his leg along the chaise lounge that lay beneath the large window.

The bed dipped as he lowered himself onto it, the blankets flattening slightly where he sat and her body rolling towards him on instinct. Her unconcious mind hadn't yet lost the want to be close to another. She shuffled again, her arm coming up out of the blankets and slapping down across her body, sending a puff of breeze towards her peaceful face. She pursed her lips and he watched her. He ran his eyes across her collarbone, the strap of her black, silken nightgown against her pale, pinkish skin. Finally, his lips curved into a smile; she was beautiful.

She muttered something and he stiffened slightly before reaching across her to take the hand that had slipped free of the duvet. Instantly, her fingers were laced with his and her eyelids fluttered open, letting free the startling green that caught chocolate brown in it's ravenous hold and didn't let go.

"Eric," She breathed, gripping his hand tighter as she pulled herself up in the bed, dragging him towards her with a strength that came more from desperation than actual, physical force and he went willingly, wrapping his arms around her shoulders as tightly as hers went around his waist. "-I thought-" She didn't complete the breathless confession, couldn't or wouldn't, but he knew what she was referring to. One of three bullets had been fired through the windscreen of his silver Audi and she had fearlessly fired all three. Reaching up for him, she grasped his face with both of her hands, gripping him feircely, but not painfully as she studied his shadowed features in the darkened room. He slowly raised his hand to caress the back of his fingers, down her cheek, brushing her hair aside as he rested his palm at the nape of her neck and she smiled blindingly.

Gripping the back of his head with a powerful hand, she pulled him towards her, crushing her lips to his in a kiss that was two parts lust, two parts desperate relief. She breathed in gasps against his cheek, as he crawled his way up onto the bed with her, straddling her body through the thick blankets, running his fingers gently through her hair as he continued to probe her mouth. Persistently, she pushed at the blankets, trying to break the barrier between them as he pressed his palm against her spine, between her shoulder blades and dragged her body up to greet his. With a gust of breeze, the blankets were gone and his grey dress pants were brushing against the soft, toned muscles of her bare legs. "You're wet." She commented as his knee came up between her legs, brushing against black cotton panties, causing her to shiver at the contact. "You too." He jested and she laughed into his mouth though her breath hitched and her laughter stopped when he bit down on her kiss-swollen bottom lip. She hissed, pulling the ends of his purple button-down shirt up so that she could press her hands to his stomach, letting her deft fingers find the perfect moment to dip down below the waist of his pants.

Calleigh awoke with a start, shooting up in the bed, panting frantically as she felt the cool night air hit the warm droplets of sweat that trickled down the side of her face. Clutching the duvet tightly to her chest, her eyes roamed the room and her heart-beat quickened. The moonlight shone through the window, her bedroom door was open just a crack and the pale carpet was as pristinely white as it had been when she'd gone to bed. Looking down at her blankets, seeing how they bunched up around her body, how her extra coverlet lay folded neatly at the foot of her bed, she choked out a sob. He wasn't there. It was a dream. For the second time in as many days, Calleigh broke down. Bringing her knees up to her chest, she wept, feeling the chill in the room more noticably than she ever had before as she pressed her hands to her face, fighting to breathe through tears.

"Eric?" She choked out, instantly regretting how small and ridiculous her voice sounded. She felt weak and hopeless and most embarressingly, she felt vulnerable. She'd really believed that he was back. She'd honestly believed that he'd come back to her because the dream had been so vivid, his touch so real it sent shivers through her, just remembering it. Wiping her tears away, she looked around the room again, looking down at her kit sitting beside her chest of drawers with a gap beside it, where his should be.

She couldn't possibly sleep now.

Glancing at the clock, Calleigh groaned and shoved the blankets away, now far too hot to focus as she read the glowing five o'clock reflecting off the edge of the white chinese lion lampbase. She had hours before she needed to be at the lab, hours before she'd be allowed to begin her relentless search again.

Scrambling up from the bed, the hem of her nightgown brushed along her thigh and she stopped, looking down at her legs as she raised her feet out ahead of her. She studied her bare feet, her toned calves, button knees and her muscled thighs. Wistfully, she smiled, because Eric had loved her legs. He'd told her he loved that they were short, loved that they were just that little bit thicker than he'd thought and at her self-concious frown, had smiled, caressed her knees and gently said that she needn't feel self-concious, needn't frown because she had stocky legs. She needed to smile, because she was lucky to fit so much strength and power, into a smaller body. Like with so many other things in her life, Eric had helped her to realise a curse wasn't a curse, if you could see the blessing hidden underneath. Her little legs assured she was underestimated. Her stature, her appearance, assured that she was doubted and her resolve, assured that time and again, she proved everyone wrong.

Letting her feet fall on the soft carpet, she padded her way out into the shadowed livingroom, frowning as the moon continued to shine in with not a hint towards the sunrise. It wasn't due for at least another hour. Shivering, as her bare foot came into contact with the cool kitchen tiles, she tip-toed across the kitchen, reaching up into the highest cabinet for where she knew he had tucked the Cubano.

She flicked the switch to boil the kettle as she carefully spooned the rich coffee into Eric's favourite earthen mug. She could hear a bird rustling around atop the kitchen skylight, but she resisted the curiosity to look up at it's silhouette, dancing across the frosted glass. She was lost in her thoughts, her fears and the question of why she was making coffee that she didn't even want. A part of her knew she wasn't going to drink it. She just wanted something in her house again, that smelt like him and if she couldn't have what she wanted the most, she'd take what she had and savour it. The kettle whistled and it took her a moment to realise it, feeling the warmth from it's steam against her arm, before she noticed it had made a sound.

Filling the mug to the very top, she allowed no room for milk. Topping it off with only a single spoonful of sugar, she held the mug in two hands and breathed in it's scent, feeling it relax her almost instantly. That was until her eyes opened again and she could see and hear that she was completely and utterely, alone.

She'd lived alone for nearly thirteen years, she'd needed no roommate, needed no parent, lover or child to make the noise of a shared existance. Only her guns, her music and her books. She'd been content. But he'd slipped into her home, effortlessly assumed a side of her bed, stacked a handful of his crime novels between her fictional history and romance stories on the shelf above her chemisty, physics and ballistics text-books. He'd dropped a canister of Cubano into her shopping cart and with a smirk, she'd left it there and a pair of his running shoes shared the same pigeon hole with hers in the shoe-rack by the door. He'd taken up residence in the vacant lot that exsisted within her heart, where no other man had made the effort to break through the no-tresspassing sign. He'd built a house there, established a dream that she'd had a glimpse at but ultimately, until now, refused to look at head on.

With shaking hands, she set the mug down on the counter and walked away from it. Leaving it full and steaming in the center of her kitchen, as alone as she felt as she walked back towards her bedroom. Aggressively, she pulled her black sports tank-top from her top draw, bringing with it a pair of black running pants and tossing them onto the bed. Reaching for her dresser, she grabbed a hair-tie and hastily pulled her long blonde hair into a high pony-tail before slipping her night-gown off her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. She pulled on her work-out clothes, grasped the long silver chain that lay on her dresser and gingerly slipped it over her head, tucking the pendant down into her tank-top. Her want to protect it being as strong as her need to find him. Pressing her palm against the cool glass crucifix beneath the fabric of her shirt, she released a sigh before grabbing a pair of socks and heading for the door.

She pulled on her running shoes, looking down at his for a moment longer than was healthy before grabbing her phone and her keys and stepping out into the brisk morning air.

TBC


	2. Something Unconditional, Something Wrong

Dragging his feet from the freezing cold edge of the water, Eric managed to pull himself up. His arm was almost a dead weight, dripping warm and dried blood coating his right arm and staining his lavender shirt. Ironically, and it made him chuckle slightly as he ripped at the sleeve with his teeth in order to make a bandage, it was the shirt that Calleigh had bought him for his last birthday and it was her bullet that he could still feel, lodged in his shoulder.

The feel of it, regardless of his pain-fogged mind, was unmistakeable. He'd been shot with a .38 before, he knew the feel of it and remembered it vividly whenever she'd stroked the scar on his thigh, or trickled light kisses across his hairline. The feel of the bullet in his shoulder right then, felt heavier, it was almost as though he could feel the few hundredth's of a millimeter's difference between the .38 imbedded in his memory and Calleigh's .45 imbedded in his arm.

Momentarily, he hated himself because he was out there in the darkness and the cold, bleeding and aching and she was home, lamenting over the notion that she'd shot him. He knew she'd know. She wouldn't be Calleigh if she didn't know precisely where each of her bullets made their target. She wouldn't be Calleigh if she'd missed. He hated himself, because he wasn't there to tell her that it wasn't her fault. He wasn't there to tell her that he loved her, that the bullet in his arm was just another reason why he loved her so much. She never missed her target, always reached her goal. He just hadn't accounted for the fact that one day, she may have been aiming at him.

A part of him had known she'd be there. She'd been in the field at the time. After her little comment about the anonymous tip, he knew that she knew he was going to do something stupid. He'd wanted to listen to her, wanted to prove to her that he trusted her more than he trusted his father. Wanted to prove that, yes, she did mean a hell of a lot more to him. But his heart had insisted that she'd forgive him. His heart had insisted that with all of their history, with all the hours, days, weeks and years they'd waited, and with all of the pain an suffering they'd staggered through together as colleagues, friends and now lovers, their relationship could come down to something unconditional. He didn't have that luxury with his father. He wanted time to learn who he was, wanted a chance to know him, to trust him. But he only had the one chance to make that happen, one moment, one day.

She'd understand, wouldn't she?

Crawling his way into the bushes, Eric looked up through the tree-tops as he heard the helicopters flying overhead again. They wirred through the sky, making him cringe each time they thumped the air like a drumstick on pulled cow-hide.

Shuffling down into what felt like a fox-hole - or what would substitute as a decent one for the time being - he hid. He couldn't be found yet. He needed to get away. He needed to be sure that they were no longer after him. He needed to make sure they'd stay away from her, before he let anyone know he was alive.

**

Calleigh ran as fast as her legs would carry her. Running was something she'd used to close her mind off before. Jogging was something she'd used to clear her head, to get away where it was just her and the road. No murderers, no rapists, no kidnappers or paperwork. Where it was just her, the sunrise and the sharp, crisp feeling of cool air hitting her flushed skin. Her pony-tail flicked from side to side as her shoes thudded against the gravel, one thud - right foot, another thud - left foot, and so on. She could feel the warm burn from her calves up to the back of her thighs, feeling her legs start to ache as she pushed on, her pink cheeks slowly turning crimson as she jogged east, as if she could run right off the edge of the world and into the awaiting sun.

Guns were her salvation. They were what gave her peace. Ballistics was an exact science, afterall. It made her feel as though she could control it. A bullet match was a bullet match, no questions, no queries, no second-guessing her findings. No worries. Until now.

She'd been standing there, her stilletto-clad feet parted in a stance she'd taken many times in the past. Her forearms were rested against the frame of the Hummer window. She'd felt the sting of a glass shard, burying itself in her flesh, but she hadn't thought about it at the time. Taking aim, she'd fired without fear. She didn't think of dying, she didn't think of their families, she didn't think of them as men, husbands, fathers or sons because if she had, she'd have stopped herself. If she had, she'd have identified with them and that would have been worse than missing her target. It would have meant a life taken, because she hesitated. Two shots - _left foot, right foot_ - she'd hit the window of the van. Glance to her right, two shots - _right foot, left foot, her breathing lowered_ - the bald Russian fell back against the black panelled van, his gun falling in his lap. One shot - _she tripped up slightly_ - Ryan hit another, right between the eyes, the first life he'd ever taken, she hadn't had a chance to see his face. An engine roared, her eyes shot up to the warehouse as the grill of an Audi sedan burst out between the vans, it's wheels screeching on the blood seeping from their fallen commrades. - _Thud thud, left foot, right foot_ - five shots, three at the car, one through the windshield and she froze.

Calleigh stopped running, her hands dropped to her knees as she choked for air. Feet side by side, she gulped at the air, her pony-tail hanging over her right shoulder as she fought her memories, fought the image that came unbidden to her mind.

She'd seen him. His dark-brown eyes, his broad shoulders, his hands gripped tightly to the steering wheel. She'd seen flashes of white light, glimpses of early morning kisses, dark-skinned hands roaming over a soft, pale stomach. In that moment he was a lover, a friend, a son. He was her past, her future and she froze. She hesitated.

He was everything she told herself her targets never were.

TBC


	3. Twin Orchids and A Crucifix

Calleigh tossed her shoes against the rack. Normally she took the time to place them carefully back where she'd gotten them from, but as she glanced down at the muddy stilettos sitting in two different, yet equally awkward, positions just behind the door, she decided that she just didn't care. The whole house was glowing with a beautiful orange hue that normally acted as her wake-up call, the bright beams of the first rays of sunlight, acting as a silent alarm for her on any other day.

Pulling the tank-top up and over her head, Calleigh tossed it on top of the clothes basket as she reached into her shower, turning it on. She had to press her hand to the cool black and cream tiles as she braced herself to pull her socks off her feet before shimmying out of her pants and kicking them aside.

She felt off-kilter. For the past few months, her morning rituals had slowly transformed into a sort of ballet as she and Eric danced around each other. When she was in the shower, he would be taking his time to wake up or shaving over the sink. When she was blow-drying her hair, he'd be in the shower singing Beyonce songs off-key because he knew it annoyed her. He'd make breakfast wearing nothing but a towel and she'd laugh to herself but call out to him from her bedroom, as she chose her earrings for the day, that what he was doing was distinctly un-hygenic.

It was a finely tuned system that they had.

But as she stood in the middle of her bathroom, glaring at the orchids that lined the twin window-sills, wearing nothing but her panties, she felt lost. She smiled faintly, thinking of Eric's reaction if he'd seen her standing there so scantily clad. He'd have cracked a joke or pretended to walk past the door, only to stop and make a show of ogling her before saying something intentionally crude, just to get a rise out of her. Taking a deep breath, she kicked her panties off, opened up the shower and stepped inside, letting the steaming-hot water soothe her aching muscles and maybe clear her head of the thoughts her run had failed to drive away.

Her head was swimming with images of his cold, dead body. After eleven years as a CSI, she could picture every single possible and horrible scenario that involved the everglades and countless others that could happen if he'd managed to stumble that far away. Resting her forehead against the tiles, she let the morning's earlier tears come back to her, letting them roll down her cheeks and drown somewhere within the spray of water where she wouldn't see them disappear. There was no point anymore. After breaking down in the field the day before, for the rest of her shift Calleigh hadn't uttered a peep that wasn't necessary. Rudely, she'd uttered her aquiesence when Horatio had insisted that she go home and when Ryan had asked her, for the sixth time that day - but who was counting - if she was alright, she had snapped a characteristic "I'm fine" before storming off and hiding in her lab.

She'd hated herself, the moment she'd done it. Because Calleigh Duquense did not hide, she didn't crack and she certainly didn't cry. But this was Eric, and none of them faulted her for her behaviour which made her even more angry, because why the hell didn't they? She was acting like a child, a petulant, impulsive, teenager and they were patting her on the shoulders, telling her that it'd be fine and were sure that they knew she'd bounce right back when he was found.

A part of her loathed being so predictable. Because it was true. The moment Eric returned, she'd be brighter, her mood would lift and no one would even mention that she'd thrown things across her lab. Glass things, big things, things that made as much noise as possible. No one would blame her or bring it up ever again, not even in passing conversation.

The words - "_Do you remember the time Eric was missing and Calleigh..._" would never pass a single CSI lip. Growling against the tiles, Calleigh wiped her tears away angrilly.

She wanted someone to say _something_. She wanted it to come up because maybe - she thought - just maybe if they brought it up she could finally let it all out. She wasn't one who ever let her emotions show too conspicuously. Never wore her heart on her sleeve and had never set foot in a crime scene she couldn't handle. Eric was missing, ok, so what? Officers are killed in the line of duty, aren't they? She could carry on, right? Of course she could. At least that's what she'd convinced herself, until the moment it actually happened. Up until then it was all pride and noble pretenses. She could say - "_It'll never happen to me_" - right up until the moment that it did.

As she rolled her forehead on the cool tiles, feeling the harsh spray of the water move around her body as she turned in her spot, until her back was on the tiles and she was staring out at the shadows of her bathroom through the frosted shower door, she wondered; What the hell is the point? Strong, willful, closed off. What the hell were all the walls for if they couldn't protect her now?

Shutting off the spray, Calleigh wiped at her eyes and reached up for the towel that was hanging over the door. But with her hand halfway up and her feet arched until she was up on her toes, she paused and stared at the empty space where a towel should have been. Two seconds and she'd already forgotten that he wasn't there to hang her towel.

She closed her eyes tight and her fist tighter.

Calleigh took a deep, shuddering breath and stepped out of the shower. She grabbed a towel from the rack, wrapped it around herself and walked towards her bedroom. She dressed quickly, not really caring whether she wore the pink or the yellow silk blouse under her signature black suit - oblivious to the fact that she actually picked up a black blouse. She ran a brush through her hair and then blow-dried it. Making her way back out of the bathroom again, she paused and ran back in, because people would only ask questions if she forgot to wear earrings. She was going for the 'unaffected' look, knowing she'd fail miserably, because if no one noticed the bags under her eyes, they all needed to start looking for a new occupation.

Grabbing her hand-bag, also black, she threw her cell-phone into it, her purse, her gun and rummaged around inside to make sure she had her cuffs before she grabbed Eric's crucifix from the dresser and put it back on - this time forgetting to put it on the inside of her shirt.

TBC


	4. Junk Food and PiggyBack Rides

Eric could feel the icy-cold breeze coming off the water as the first rays of light crept down through the trees, into his hiding place. His bones were stiff and his back hurt from falling asleep in the mud and muck at a weird angle, but shaking off his good arm as he stood, he stretched his back and searched the area with his eyes, to get his bearings.

He could no longer hear the coast-guard choppers, near or in the distance and a part of him sighed in relief whilst the other part, wanted to slap him for trying to play the hero. He knew which way he had come and he knew which way he had to go, now it was just a matter of getting there without leaving too much of a trail.

It played over aggressively, in his mind, what had happened in the warehouse the day before.

_His car came to a screeching halt in the warehouse, he swung open the door and immediately, his hand jumped to his weapon. His father yelled in russian, a warning, a promise and the guns trained on him lowered. He recognised a few of the men that surrounded his father. A few worked for Sarnoff, a few he'd never seen before and with their senses always ready, he could see these men were in the middle of the raid they had feared would come._

_"You don't need to do this." He begged Sharova who's eyes pleaded with him to let it go. "You can still walk away." He edged closer, seeing the hackles of the nameless men around him, rise with each step he took._

_"And what do you suggest, Eric?" His father had shrugged his shoulders. "You suggest that we leave these guns and say to our bosses, 'sorry, we decided no.'?"_

_"Just walk away." He met eyes with as many of them as he could and raised his voice so they all could hear. "You can all, still walk away."_

_"Come, Alexander, this cop he can do nothing for you." A thick russian accent from his left, tried to convince him._

_"Walk away." Eric practically whispered, ignoring the man and holding his hands out in a gesture of peace. "A story of my life, grandchildren that know your name, if you walk away now."_

_He had seen Alexander's eyes widen at the bargain. There was a glint there, in those cold grey eyes, a hint of something foreign, something new. Hope, perhaps? A chance to see a world like that, it was certainly a hard bargain to pass up, at least Eric thought. For a man who's adult life had been dictated by murderers and thieves, it was the only thing he knew how to offer. "Calleigh and me, Alexander, we're the real thing." For all his talk, his adamant declarations to Calleigh that this wasn't his father's way, always referring to him as his father when defending a man he knew to be guilty, he still hadn't found the way to call him 'father' to his face. Because that name still belonged to the man who's face he saw when memories of football games, piggy-backs and late night junk-food came to mind._

_"She will never forgive me, Eric." Sharova staggered out his words. He was fighting with the moment and the thought of one day, being a father to his son. His boy, who was such a better man than him. He had another man to thank for that, an equally better man and he couldn't fight the overwhelming feeling that the promises were empty. "She won't-"_

_Eric cut him off. "Just talk to her!" He demanded, knowing in his heart that it'd be harder for Sharova to speak to Calleigh's calm, controlled face than it would be to negotiate with the barrel of Horatio's gun. They'd never been face to face. All she knew of him was a rap-sheet several miles long, Eric's DNA and his association with the Russian mob. And all he knew of her, was a smiling picture in Eric's wallet, a four-year old story about a water-fight with a guy named Speed and that she was 'the one'. Eric's voice lowered, meant for him and his father alone, even though he knew there were enemy ears all around them. "Come with me. Please."_

Eric tripped on a fallen log, feeling the wound in his shoulder send a sharp, tearing pain down his arm. He hissed and bit his lip, drawing blood there. But he stubbornly kicked at the log and kept moving. Sharova had screamed at him, from the moment they tore out of the warehouse, to the moment they'd sped out into the canals, that he had to go back. Eric had seen Calleigh's face, he'd met her eyes and he knew that Sharova had seen her too. She was standing there, so still. The world had silenced right then, slowing it down as he realised the expression on her face. Hurt, betrayel.

As Eric drove, all the information he could possibly need came billowing out of Sharova's mouth. Kasparov, he'd gesticulated wildly. It was Kasparov, not Sarnoff, that wanted the guns. It was Kasparov who had placed the hit on Eric. It was Kasparov, hiding behind the illusion that he was second gun, that had orchestrated it all. Sharova had gripped the dashboard suddenly, when the car veered dangerously off the road and with a loud 'bang' Eric's airbag had exploded out from the steering wheel.

_"You need to get to his club. You need to find him." Sharova insisted, feeling his head getting cloudy and his voice slurring. Fighting against a wave of diziness, he gripped Eric's sore arm and pulled him harshly, towards him. "You need to get them all or you will not be safe."_

_A moment later, he was unconcious and Eric had found himself stumbling out of the car. He'd glanced back at his father's motionless form as he'd dashed towards the water. A million of Speed's jokes about the sewege in the canals, popped into his head as he ran towards the water and dived in. Down and down he swam, as far as a single breath could carry him._

Finally, he found the edge of a tar road. He was getting closer to the city.

Eric glanced up at the sun, it was hot and he could feel the skin on the back of his neck, burning as he kept on moving.

TBC


	5. Henry VIII and A CSI made of China

Calleigh crossed the lobby, keeping her head up but her eyes on her toes. She didn't want to have to speak to anyone. Didn't want to make eye-contact, lest she have to make mention of Eric or worse, make idle conversation. She signed in, reaching for the clipboard before signing her name and passing it back over the counter to the clerk, who unfortunately, caught her eye long enough to send her a painful, worried look. Stopping herself, in the center of the lobby with the clerk's eyes still set on her face, she looked around at everyone who filled the room making the sounds of passer's by, but on closer inspection, each one of them watching her as if she might break.

She hated it.

"Calleigh," A soft, gentle voice spoke from behind her and with her eyes closed tightly, she turned around to face him. Waiting three breaths before she opened her eyes again. "-how are you?" He spoke quietly, leaning closer to her in order to keep their conversation as private as possible.

"You know, Horatio," She smiled though the dull green in her eyes failed to brighten. "-i'm fine."

He nodded, watching her from the corner of his eye as he adjusted his footing and paid closer attention to his shoes - at least as far as she knew. "Of course." They both knew she was lying. It was an understanding that they'd shared for a long time. He'd ask out of unadulterated concern and she'd answer, spinning a barely concealed lie so that they could both walk away knowing the other cared and yet trusted enough to come when the pain got too much. He likely knew her better than anyone in the lab gave him credit for and while she knew that to be fact, neither broadcast it. On occasion Natalia or Valera would voice their disapproval of his controlled professionalism in the face of - Calleigh in particular's - anguish. But they didn't know that that's all she ever asked for. Comfort could be given later, when the work was done and the tension in the air could be released. Comfort could come from someone qualified to give it and while, she knew Horatio loved her, as a father would love a daughter, it was never his comfort that could heal the wounds entirely. That too, he knew far too well.

"We have Sharova in holding." He spoke slightly louder and she nodded, raising her chin.

"Have you questioned him?"

He shook his head and watched her nibble on her bottom lip. She still had her hand-bag over one shoulder and her car keys spinning idly around her fingers. "Right," She nodded turning just a little, before halting herself and hesitating, meeting his eye for a moment as he watched her. "Will you..." Calleigh gripped the strap of her bag tightly in her hand, holding it against her shoulder as he smiled.

"He'll be waiting in interrogation with Frank, when you're ready."

"Right."

Nothing more was said. She disappeared down the hall, around the corner and he could hear the lock on the door to the Ballistics lab, click open before he turned away aswell.

**

Eric screamed and waved his gun, held tightly in his blood-stained hand, at the insane Mercedes driver that had the audacity to honk his horn at a man who could barely keep his feet in a straight line. His resolve to reach his destination hadn't yet wavered. But his strength to place one foot in front of the other, lessened with each step. And the stifling Miami heat was not helping matters.

A woman caught his eye, as he dodged another car and made his way across the street again. Zigzagging, as he was, he pulled a face at her if only to disuade her from calling in any kind of aid. He was hobbling and he knew it, but he needed to avoid attention for now.

Quickly, he ducked into a nearby alley and breathed a sigh of relief as he staggered into the shade between the buildings. Out of the sun and out of sight. Eric let his weight rest against the shabby, graffitied brick wall as he rifled through his pockets. He still held his gun tightly in his right hand, though little good it would do him there considering he could no longer lift his right arm without a sharp stabbing pain shooting up through his shoulder, around his neck and back down his spine. With a struggle, he managed to pry his wallet free and quickly flipped it open. He had, twenty bucks, two credit cards - one was Speed's - an old reciept from a gas station at the other end of town and a dog-eared photo of Calleigh and him, in one of those ridiculously chiched photo-booths. Smiling, he remembered that day.

_"Come on, Eric, It'll be fun." She pulled him towards the booth. Her high-heels clicking on the cold marbled floor of the shopping complex as she danced her way backwards, her fingers wrapped around his wrist._

_"Cal, I didn't think this was your style."_

_"It's not," She smirked, grabbing his collar and pushing him onto the stool in the booth that was barely big enough for one person. "-but neither were you, remember?" She cocked her eyebrow and he mimicked the gesture, mouthing a mirthful 'touche' before grabbing her by the hips and pulling her down onto his lap. "One serious one." She insisted, resting her temple against his as she felt his arms wrap around her waist from behind and hold her tight, resting his chin on her shoulder as the booth filled with a bright flash._

_"My god, that's bright." He pinched the bridge of his nose, sure that for the rest of the day, he was going to be seeing bright white dots._

_"Come on, it's not that bad." She laughed, gripping his jaw and placing a kiss on his cheek, as the second flash went off._

_"Oh, two can play at this game!" He reached up, catching her lips with his before she could turn away and she laughed into his mouth, as the third flash covered them in a stark white glow._

_"Two more!" She proclaimed excitedly, sticking her tongue out at the camera, a gesture he managed to copy, just in time for the fourth flash to catch their image._

_"Last one." Eric winked at her, reaching around behind her to poke a set of bunny ears, over the top of her head. She scowled playfully, pouting for the camera. But she was unable to hold it, instead, breaking into a fit of laughter as the last shot went off._

_Eric grabbed the photos from the box as they stumbled out of the booth, earning a few knowing smirks and curious looks from the shoppers that passed them by. They both ignored them, instead looking over their photos with wide smiles._

_"I want this one." Calleigh grinned, taking the photos from his hands and carefully tearing them apart. "I'm going to put it in my purse." She grinned like a child and Eric couldn't help but watch her and the way she studied the small photo almost reverently, before slipping it into her purse and holding it up for him to see._

_"Looks great." He smirked, leaning down to kiss her lips chastely before scanning the photos for the one he wanted to keep close to his own heart. Calleigh had taken the one where she'd kissed his cheek, obviously finding the surprised look on his face as adorable as he knew she would. Calleigh watched his face intently and grinned when his smile widened on the first photo they'd taken._

_"This one." He declared, slipping it into his wallet along with the the credit card of Speed's he hadn't been able to throw away. Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, he guided them towards the parking lot, grinning because he could carry Calleigh's smiling face wherever he went, right beside the last possesion he had, that reminded him of their best-friend._

Eric flicked his thumb over the edge of the photograph, wishing he could hold her like that again, just once. They'd only been together a few months and already, he could feel that that little peice of heaven they'd found, was being stolen from them as so many moments had in the past. He could feel fate stealing another person he loved, right out of his hands. It'd been hard with Mari. Actually, that's a lie, he'd felt as though his whole heart had been ripped out through his chest, twice over when Horatio had to tell him again, through trembling lips, that his big sister was dead. Like Henry VIII, cursed with dead sons, Eric felt like the universe was telling him he was just never meant to love.

Of course, as he looked out toward the over-flowing trash can across the alley and back towards the street he'd stumbled from, he realised that he was jumping to conclusions. This situation was nothing like Mari, because he still had Calleigh to fight for. He still had her to make his way home to and hope, that she'd know just as instinctually, what he'd been thinking when all this began, as she knew the rest of him inside and out.

Tucking the photo back in his wallet, he slipped it into his pocket and looked down at his right hand. His gun was still hanging from his fingers and his knuckles where caked in dried blood and dirt, but this wasn't the time to worry about such things. The back door to Kasparov's club was right down the other end of the alley, so, with a deep breath and a forced first step, he started moving again.

TBC


	6. Glass Walls and an Empty Hope

Alexander watched the light flickering on the glass table ahead of him. After sleeping in the holding cell all night, he took full advantage of the slightly padded desk chair the uniformed cop had rolled in his direction when he was shoved into the interrogation room without a word. For a moment, he'd thought that Lieutenant Caine was going to come in there, fists at the ready and demand to know where Eric had gone. He'd expected that of him last night, but no one had come.

For a brief moment, he wondered if Eric had made it to Kasperov's club by now. The Everglades were a dangerous place, he knew, but he didn't allow himself the worry, he barely deserved it anyway.

Letting his eyes roam the room, he watched through the one transparent wall, as the cops came and went with files and evidence bags in hand. Sometimes with a suspect handcuffed ahead of them. Which brought him back to the uncomfortable feeling of the handcuffs on his own wrists, digging an itchy red line. Then he spotted them. The back of Horatio Caine was unmistakeable, with the constant dark suit and the head of red hair. Not the most intimidating of appearances, but it seemed to somehow work for him. And she was standing there, her hands clasped tightly to the hem of her jacket, clear manicured nails digging into the fabric as she nodded her head, her long blonde hair bouncing as she spoke words he couldn't hear.

Then, she was walking towards him. Caine stood in his place, his eyes set on her back as she crossed the lobby and set her hand on the doorknob, meeting his eyes for a moment, before looking down at her hand and pushing it open. For a few seconds, he could hear the outside noise of phones ringing, copiers copying and computers beeping. There was a loud screeching noise and his ears quickly identified it as the skantily clad woman who was cuffed and resisting, though suddenly drowned out by the thud of the closing door and the silence that engulfed the room.

She stood there, directly in front of him. The large bald cop stood behind her, but he knew he was merely there for in case things got out of hand. No doubt, she could handle herself, but the department couldn't be seen to send such a slightly built woman into a closed room with a confessed Russian Mobster.

He grew increasingly uncomfortable under her silent scrutiny, fidgeting in his chair before lifting his hands. His shoulders were getting sore, letting his hands tied as tightly as they were, droop in his lap. So he lifted his arms as though to rest them on the table, but in a flash of gold and a loud, suprising clattering, she'd gripped the edge of the table and slid it out from under his hands. He was caught off guard, and so were the cops if the fact they instinctually went for their sidearms, was any indication. But when she crouched down in front of him, grasping the cuffs and awkwardly tugging on them, sending a stabbing ache through his shoulders, he heard the burly cop ease the uniformed officers behind her.

"I do not get to rest, until we find him, so neither do you." She hissed, her green eyes cold and harsh as he looked down into them. But there was something else there, a sort of ingrained kindness that couldn't be erased by this new found rage. She was upset, he could see, and rightfully so. She could carry through on whatever threat she made, that too he could see, but there was an honest want in her eyes, for everything to run it's course as smoothly as possible.

"He told me about you." He whispered for only her ears. He'd heard her warning and chose not respond to it. But by the look in her eyes, he could tell that she was aware he'd registered it.

She swallowed. "And what did he say?"

"Said you were the real thing."

Her lips curled slightly, but she didn't smile. Somehow she knew that Eric would tell him something. Either he'd have told him stories about their past or share with him hopes for the future, but a part of her knew he wouldn't have shared her name. "How do you know he was talking about me?"

"He wanted me out." He stated, flinching when she released the cuffs but remained crouched in front of him. "He offered me a deal. I told him that you'd never except it, but apparently he believes that I am wrong. Believes in you."

"Where is he?" She choked, no longer comfortable with him dancing around his answers.

"I cannot tell you."

"Come on, Alexander," Calleigh rested her hand on his knee and he shuddered slightly at the contact, having not expected such warmth from the woman that would fire the first shot into his chest, if Eric was found dead. "-it's me. He told you about me," He nodded. "-then he would have told you that he tells me everything. You can too."

He laughed humorlessly. "And you believe that just because you mean everything to my son, I'm going to tell you where he is?" Calleigh could hear Frank shuffle behind her and she knew his ears would have pricked up as Sharova's voice rose. But she couldn't let the idea of their secret breaking lose, trip her up now.

"No, I need you to tell me, because he means everything to _me_." She admonished, laying her cards out on the table - that was, if she hadn't already discarded the table in a rage of swirling hair and clenched teeth.

Sharova looked up at Frank, seeing how close the cop had already come to Calleigh's back. She glanced over her shoulder and he backed up a step but refused to go further. So Sharova leant forward, close to her ear. "You can't find him, he won't let you."

"Why?"

"Because if he doesn't kill them first, they will come for you." He met her eyes and Calleigh sat back a little, biting her lips as she studied his face.

"Who has he gone after?" Her eyes narrowed and her expression, suddenly turned to steel.

"I don't know."

Calleigh pressed her lips into a thin line. "Who, Sharova? Who is he after?" She boomed and Sharova clammed up.

"Tell me!" Calleigh demanded, grabbing him by the collar and shaking him. Frank quickly grasped her shoulders, pulling her back towards him until her back fell against his chest and she was breathing heavily, her hair having fallen in her face.

Sharova chuckled slightly. "I will give him credit, you are strong and very passionate." Calleigh glared at him, watching him reach up and wipe his bottom lip. "I had only seen a photograph and, _she's very pretty_, I said. But Eric, no, he says - _Calleigh is strong, she is fierce. But she is kind_ - you know," He pointed up at her. "- you know, I nodded - _it's the eyes_, I said and that was the first time I had seem him smile."

"You tried to kill him." She spat and Sharova nodded, dropping his chin to his chest.

"Yes. Yes I did. But I am glad that I failed."

"So am I." Her voice softened as she watched him twisting his hands in the cuffs as if considering a thought.

"I do know one thing."

"What?"

He looked up at her again. "When it's done, he will come to you."

"That's not good enough." A glossy sheen appeared in Calleigh's eyes and it didn't go unnoticed by Sharova.

"It will have to be." He tilted his head. "Because I want my deal."

"And what was it? Leniency?" Her voice was rising with each word. "Because the most lenient offer I can give you is life, without parole!"

"No, no." He shook his head, his voice calm and steady. "No, it's far simpler than that. Something only you can give."

"I will give you nothing."

Sharova sighed. "I told him so much." He nodded, meeting her eyes again. "But he was so sure. _Just talk to her_, he said." He smiled faintly.

"Well I'm here, Sharova, and for all your talk, you've told me nothing."

Sharova noticed a shadow out of the corner of his eye, he knew the two uniformed cops were both behind him, so he glanced to his left, noting a dark shadow even closer to the building, just outside the frosted green wall. Calleigh was staring at him, waiting for a response that didn't seem to be coming. Turning around, she motioned to Frank that she was done with him and Frank turned, heading out the door with a glare towards the man still seated in the chair.

But Calleigh's foot didn't even get a chance to touch the ground before she felt two bound arms encircle her and drag her down to the ground. She would have protested, were it not for the shower of glass and the overwhelming racket of guns rapid-firing through the room. Through dust, debris and golden tendrils, she was able to see Horatio, crouched on the floor a few feet from her head, firing back and screaming for everyone to get down. She tried to struggle free of Sharova's hold, tried to reach for her gun, but with one swift roll, he was on top of her, holding her down on the ground and gripping her head, covering her with his body as the dividing wall shattered over them.

She felt a shard dig into her cheek, but had so far survived the spray of bullets. "I need to get to my gun, I need to help them!" She shouted over the raucus, but Sharova could barely hear her.

"Calleigh?!" She heard Frank, who'd managed to press his back against the foundation wall when the first bullets had cracked the glass.

"I can't get to my gun!" She screamed back, pushing at Sharova's motionless form. "Alexander?" She questioned, but he didn't move. "Sharova!" She yelled louder and he managed to meet her eyes for a moment, a weary look clouding his features. "Are you hit?"

He nodded, dropping his head to her shoulder but still holding her body beneath him, still shielding her.

It felt like an eternity had passed. She could hear the unmistakable sound of shoes crunching broken glass and shouts all around her as she tried to lift her body. But even as she caught sight of Horatio's foot, just by her head, she couldn't crawl out from Sharova's arms until Horatio lifted the near-unconcious man off her.

Immediately, she jumped to her feet, brushing her hair back out of her eyes and taking a deep breath, ready to berate Sharova's actions. But when she set her eyes on his face, pained and paled, she softened and reached up to the small trail of blood trickling down his brow. "They came for me." He stated, as she inspected the cuts around his head, listening to the officers kicking the debris aside in order to get to the men who'd been shot dead just outside the interrogation room window, and the sound of the sirens screaming after the ones that had gotten away.

"That may be, but you're alive and it's our intention that you stay that way." She stated matter-of-factly. "Where else are you hit?"

"I will be fine, Officer Duquesne."

Before Calleigh could respond, Horatio was behind her left shoulder, with a palm pressed to her elbow. "We've got a bus waiting for him. We need to get him out of the building, now." He stated, in that hushed tone that always left her either anxious or obstinant. She nodded, reaching for the kevlar vest Frank had dangling from his fingers, as she passed him. It was only moments later, that she realised the ridiculousness of wedging her body between Frank's and the doorframe, when the wall enclosing the room no longer exsisted, but she didn't dwell on it. She just shook her head to clear the cobwebs as she pulled on her vest, strapping it up as she watched Horatio slipping one onto Sharova.

"I've got him," She stated, grasping Sharova's elbow and tugging him towards the front doors of the lab. He went willingly, letting her drag him down the front steps, towards the waiting prison bus. He glanced in her direction, noting the red ridges around her eyes before dropping his chin to his chest and taking a deep breath. "Stay down, below the windows until you're out of the city." She stated, like she actually needed to explain it. Sharova nodded, grateful that she'd taken to protecting him, albeit reluctantly, as opposed to pressing a gun to his temple like she wanted to.

"He will come to you."

Calleigh looked up at him, blinking back the annoying itch in her eyes that grew in intensity with each tear she refused to shed. "You don't know him."

"No," Sharova shook his head. "but _you_ do. And you know I'm right."

Calleigh closed the bus door in his face, ignoring his eyes as they followed her. The guard lead him to a seat and he continued to watch her face as he was shackled to the bus, but with one final glance, she turned on her heel and headed back inside. Far away from Sharova and an empty hope.

TBC


	7. Hell and A Calleigh Shaped Silhouette

Eric sucked in a deep breath as he stumbled through the back door of the club. Immensely grateful to be out of the heat because he could already smell the dried blood and sweat, trickling down his back and he could feel the dirt and muck from the 'glades, caked across his brow. Cocking his gun, he edged his way through the cement, back hallways glowing in flourescent light, until he pushed his way through the half-open fire exit and out, into the normally dark club, currently glowing and bright from the house lights instead of the neons that lined the walls.

The place was deserted and as he rested against a stool, he noticed a trail of blood spread across the floor, just beyond the bar. Hugging his bad arm across his stomach, Eric forced himself to his feet in order to follow the trail. One didn't have to be a CSI to know that at the end of a trail of blood, one usually found a body. But in being a CSI, Eric knew that whoever he found at the end of the trail, couldn't have survived.

Staggering past a booth, he pushed back memories of him and Calleigh in a darkened club. He ignored the images of her cheeks, flushed pink after three Mimosas and a smile that melted him right down to his toes. Blinking, he tried to ignore the image that flashed through his mind, of kissing her neck in a booth like that one and ignoring the world as he held her back close to his chest - his palm pressed to her stomach and her fingers laced with his - as they moved together on the dance-floor.

Letting his body fall back against the wall, Eric released a deep sigh as he recognised the man propped up against the stairs, his hand clutching a small GPS tracker and his face, buried in his elbow. Kneeling down beside him, he placed his gun on the ground by his knee in order to inspect the man's face. It was Kasparov. Eric could feel a warmth spring to his eyes, tears that didn't fall. And he couldn't work out if they were tears of relief or of an unbridled fear.

And it was in that moment, that he didn't have a clue where he stood. Kasparov was dead. Was he safe? Was Calleigh safe? Did the Mob still have a hit on him? Were there any of them left? These were all questions that ran through his head, as he stared down at the small white box gripped in the man's hand. Pulling it from the man's stiff, cold fingers, Eric recognised the device as the one Horatio had given to Yelina. And he immediately wondered if she was alright. The last he heard, she was working as an informant for Horatio, deep undercover in Kasparov's club. He wondered if she was alright, wondered if Horatio had found her before all hell had broken loose on Miami. He couldn't completely deny his part in all the hell, but as he slipped back against the wall, with his hand grasped tightly around the GPS, his thumb pressed tightly to the button, he hoped that she was safe.

**

Calleigh sat at the corner of her lab bench, running her finger around the edge of her badge, back and forth, over and over again. She didn't know where to rest her eyes. The doorway made her think of Eric and wonder if she would ever see him leaning on the frame again, his arms crossed over his chest and a sneaky little smirk plastered on his lips. The range made her think of Eric, 9mm's and broad hands snaking around her waist to rest on her hips as she bit down on her bottom lip and tried desperately to ignore the heat rising within her and the goosebumps forming on her arms. She couldn't look at the floor, because the floor in this lab still reminded her of Hagen and she couldn't bear the thought of finding Eric somewhere, cold and dead and know that there could have been something she could have done or said, to prevent it. Looking at the walls made her feel trapped, because he was out there, somewhere, and there was nothing she could do. For all of her knowledge, for all of her expertise, her training and her skill, she was reduced to a poor excuse of a woman, feet dangling from her stool, eyes set on her badge and a cold pressure building in her heart because she didn't know what to do. She didn't know how to feel.

She'd been with Eric for long enough to know that she loved him. She'd been with him long enough to have realised she'd loved him for far longer than she'd allowed him into her heart, far longer than she'd allowed him into her bed. If she closed her eyes, she could feel the strength of his hands, pressing into her abdomen as he massaged along her hips, placed gentle kisses on her thighs and whispered in her ear, that he'd give her forever if she wanted it. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry, because she didn't know if he was hiding or dead. She simply, didn't know. And it was tearing her apart inside.

She was never the kind of woman that didn't know. If she wasn't sure, she looked it up. If she couldn't decide, she asked for help. If her results were inconclusive, she tested again. Calleigh Duquesne was a woman who knew. She was a woman that didn't give up, until she knew. But sitting there, alone and cold, she didn't have a clue where to start and it frightened her.

"Calleigh," Her head snapped up at the sound of a voice and momentarily, she hoped that it was him. But as she set her eyes on the figure in the doorway, she froze and stared into his eyes.

"Yes," She choked. Though she hoped her voice didn't sound as hoarse as it felt.

"I think we have something." Horatio said softly, taking a step into her lab and holding out a hand, gesturing for her to follow him.

"What is it?" She knew her eyes were puffy, she could feel it, but she knew that it would be the last thing Horatio made comment on.

"I believe that it's Eric."

Her eyes snapped up. "What?"

Horatio held out his phone to her. "I gave this GPS tracker to Yelina, it's been deactivated since I brought her back to the lab, but roughly five minutes ago, it started transmitting again."

"Why do you think it's Eric?"

He tilted his head to meet her eyes. "Because it's still coming from Kasparov's club. And I think that's where Eric went. I think he was looking to end this."

"I want to go with you." She stated, matter-of-factly, but Horatio rested a hand on her shoulder.

"Calleigh, I don't think that's the best idea. I've got Wolfe and SWAT on their way and I'm heading out there now. I need you to stay here."

"But Horatio," She protested, only to receive stern eyes and an apologetic smile as he turned on his heel, leaving her standing alone in the centre of the hall, remembering a small cup of coffee still sitting on her kitchen bench, that felt the same way. Cold and unpalatable.

**

Eric could hear cars all around him. Engines roared outside and tires came to screeching stops as sirens filled the air around him. He could smell rotting flesh as he drifted in and out, momentarily forgetting that he was two feet from an already rotting corpse. He could hear a door burst open and a swarm of boots thumping through the room in a percussive dance as the beams of a dozen flash-lights stung his eyes.

"H," He croaked, seeing the blue eyes of his friend, looking down on him.

"Stay still, Eric, you're going to be fine."

Eric nodded, feeling gloved hands under his shoulders, lifting him up before placing him down on a soft, mobile surface. The flourescent lights whirred past his eyes, until he was blinded by sunlight and the sound of the city, crashing into his ears.

He closed off. Listening to the beeps of the machines in what could only be assumed as an ambulance whilst he felt every bump and pot-hole, through the dull ache in his shoulder. "Calleigh," He whispered and he felt a hand against his knee. But it wasn't small enough, it wasn't gentle enough and he knew that it wasn't her.

"Just rest." Horatio instructed and he tried. But all he could think about was green eyes, blonde hair and bare pale legs running up the hallway as she squealed with laughter and he tackled her into the sofa, fighting valiantly for the last remnants of her cookie-dough ice cream, only to end up wearing it.

When they arrived at the hospital, he saw her standing there. She had one arm wrapped around her stomach and her other hand, pressed to her chin. He could see the worry in her eyes as they wheeled him into the emergency room and he wanted to shout out loud, that he didn't blame her. Wanted to ease her fears before he dealt with his own.

But they wheeled him on by and he lost sight of her in the fray of quick-moving bodies and a nurse with a narrow pair of what looked like tongs, digging into his arm. Horatio stood by his side, waiting for the prognosis and upon hearing that with a little rest and a lot of pain killers, he'd feel right as rain, the stoic red-head disappeared and he could hear his voice just outside the door, discussing bullets with a Calleigh-shaped silhouette. He tried to sit up, tried to reach for her, but as the nurse pushed him back down into the mattress, the silhouette turned and disappeared.

TBC


	8. Two Kids and A Shooting Range

The long day was finally surrendering to the night over the beaches of Miami. The palm frongs danced in the cooling breeze as the deep orange of the disappearing sun, cast a glow over the city. Shadows crept their way up towards the front steps of the crime lab, as Calleigh lowered herself down beside him. He was sitting casually, one shoulder - the good one - rested on the top step as he reclined, resting his injured arm across his stomach with one leg stretched out ahead of him and the other knee, bent up towards him.

She cast a small smile in his direction, as she pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her elbows on top of them. They'd been through a lot, in the past few days and as she looked out towards the setting sun, seeing the orange hue reflecting off the ocean, she started to feel herself finally relax.

"I did it for you." He whispered, without looking away from the horizon. The admission didn't make her head turn either, because she'd known. A part of her had always known, that for the better part of the last three years, everything he did, he did for her in some way. This was no different. He'd been running from the Mob, yes. But fighting back? That was optional. He chose to fight. He could have run, hid. He could have begged Horatio to sign the papers that would change his name for six months to a year and he could have disappeared to who knows where. She wouldn't have known where he went or who he became. And though she'd become accustomed to that feeling with Jake, unlike with him, she would have stared at her ceiling of a night time, unable to sleep yet too exhausted to move and think of Eric and where he might be.

When she finally did sleep she would be bombarded with images of picnics in the sun and small children with dark skin and green eyes. She'd see a little girl with curly black pig-tails and a boy to whom swimming, was like breathing. She'd forever live in a world of possibly's and likely, she'd die there, if he'd never come back.

But he fought, not because he feared for his life, but because he feared for a life without her. She was his constant, his rock. He could always count on her child-like smile, whenever a bullet fragment was recovered from the body of their latest victim, because Ballistics was an exact science, after all. And so was she. She had her problems, as everyone does. But he knew all about her father, her child-hood - Or as much as she had told him in that regard - he knew that she was rather guarded in her emotions but like every one he knew, who had a heart, her eyes still shone with a watery gleam when their jobs took them to the very peak of human cruelty. They had learnt to take turns at bringing each other back, though. Sometimes he'd make a joke, when the locker-room was dark and quiet and she was staring into her small locker as though the secrets of the world were hiding inside, ready to burst out and make it all seem like a terrible nightmare. He'd make her smile and she'd thank him and on days that were too tough for him to bare, she'd make him real southern fried chicken and grin over her salad as she watched him devour it.

"I know." She whispered, hugging her knees tighter to her chest and closing her eyes, letting the the salty breeze run it's fingers through her hair. That statement didn't phaze him either. Because none of what they'd said so far, needed to be said and he smiled, glancing up at her, watching the crimson-edged shadows waltz across her face. Watching her, with her eyes closed, he marvelled at how the light danced on the very tips of her eyelashes, casting a colourful glow over her cheeks that reminded him of the Aurora Borealis. He'd read about it in books and had the chance to go see it once, but passed it up for work. It was something he'd regretted for the longest time, up until this moment.

Looking down, Eric lost himself in his thoughts for a moment, wondering if she blamed herself for his current state. He knew she would, afterall, it was her bullet that the ER nurse had pulled from his arm. She'd looked at it herself and she'd confirmed it with slightly glistening eyes. He hadn't seen her for the rest of the day and when he arrived back at the lab, with a fanfare of well-wishes and deep sighs of relief for his well-being, he'd recieved nothing but a rather generic hug and a kiss to the cheek, something he could have easily gotten from Valera or Natalia.

From her, he'd hoped for more. He'd hoped that maybe she'd be so over-whelmed to see him alive that she'd throw their little secret pact to the wind and wrap her arms around his neck like a vice, planting kisses along his jaw until, in front of their entire world and Stetler, he felt the velvet of her lips against his for the first time in too long. But she hadn't, she'd smiled and waited patiently as everyone hugged him and patted his good shoulder whilst congratulating him on a job well done. She'd watched from over Horatio's shoulder as the two men - like brothers - shook hands and embraced and he'd caught her eye, causing her to look away. She was ashamed and worst of all it was only him, who felt undeniably, that she had no reason to be.

After sharing that she was grateful he'd made it, she turned on her heel and disappeared to her lab. He'd watched her go and frowned when Ryan had stepped into his line of sight with a genuine, yet oblivious smile. A part of him had known that she would come to him. For the sake of all they'd shared, they had the understanding that no matter how painful, they'd always meet on their differences and work at them. They were a team, in everyway they understood and neither, not even the queen of 'I'm fine, let me alone', would turn their back on that. So he'd waited, out there on the steps of the lab, watching as friend after friend, nodded their goodbyes as they left for the night and the odd nightshift person he knew, shook his hand as they passed by.

"I don't blame you." He whispered. "Never could." And her eyes squeezed closed, tighter and her lips pressed into a thin line as she nodded stiffly. Knowing it was the truth, but not yet able to completely forgive herself.

Reaching into his pocket, as the sunlight beaming through the clouds started to turn from orange to purple, he pulled his hand back out and sat up a little, holding it out to her with his palm up and a small object, resting against his life-line. Her eyes drifted open as she heard him shuffle beside her and as she looked down at his hand, letting her mouth open just slightly with well contained surprise, she looked up into his eyes.

"Nearly fifteen years ago, my Mother gave me this for you." He stated and she frowned slightly in confusion.

"Eric, I didn't know you fifteen years ago."

He chuckled gently, reaching for her hand that felt so small and delicate next to his, he carefully slipped the small ring onto her finger. It was a wide flat band made of a rose-coloured gold, with a fine pattern that wrapped all the way around her finger, like lace. It was old, she could see and as he slid it over her knuckle, she shivered.

"Doesn't matter," He smiled. "She said it was mine to give to the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with and I can't imagine anyone else, fitting that bill." She watched him questioningly as he ran his thumb around it clock-wise, then back again. "It was my Grandmother's." He stated, letting go of her hand and sitting back just a little.

She stared at it, holding her hand up to the sun as they sat, side by side on the step close enough to hear the other's breath but far enough apart, for his elbow to rest on the step between them. He watched her study it, with a small smile on her lips. He'd expected that when he gave it to her, there would be candles and music and a carefully prepared meal. He'd imagined that they'd have talked about it, long before they acted on it, but as he watched the smile grace her features of a pure and unadulterated joy, he knew that his timing was perfect.

He'd committed terrible sins to ensure a life with her and he was willing to do it all over again, if it meant he could see that smile on her face again. His greatest fear after she'd realised the bullet was her own, was that he'd never see her smile at him again. "So," He cleared his throat and she looked down at him, resting her elbows back on her knees.

"So," She mimicked with a smirk that had hidden behind it, a faint glimmer of fear and a touch of shame that would one day pass.

"What do you think?"

"I think," She grinned, letting her own misgivings go, and it didn't go unnoticed to him that the ring had already blended in perfectly, with everything about her that made her beautiful. "-I think that you've got yourself a deal, Diverman."

"The rest of my life is going to be a very long time." He warned, seeing her smile spread wider on her lips, as if it were even possible and she nodded, biting her bottom lip.

"To be honest, I have given forever some thought and," She looked back out to the horizon as the last remaining rays disappeared beneath the line of the black ocean and she nodded. "-after these last few days, I've realised that forever might get a little boring if I had to face it without you."

Leaning down towards him, until her posture nearly mimicked his own and her lips were inches away from his she stopped as his finger rested on her chin. "Just one promise?" He questioned and she nodded, awaiting it patiently. "Don't shoot me again." He chuckled and though she smiled, there was a flicker of pain there. One day they'd be able to joke about it and he believed that when they got there, the pain behind her smile wouldn't follow but for now, she straightened her shoulders just a little and let out a breath.

"If you promise not to give me reason to." She smirked and he laughed heartily, letting his eyes drop to her lips as they brushed against his. The touch was featherlight and it was over, before they'd actually kissed, but he took it because he knew this new arrangement was going to come with all sorts of secrets and hesitations, where work was concerned.

"So, two kids, a dog and a white picket fence?" He questioned and she grinned, setting her eyes on a streetlight in the distance.

"How about a shooting range, a cat and we agree on the kids?"

Eric rested his chin against his chest, nibbling on his lip as the smile stayed steady on his lips. "Never been one for normalcy, have you?"

Calleigh looked down at him. "Would I be all that interesting If I were?" Her accent was thicker now, wrapping around him like a warming blanket as the chill of the night set in.

"Not really," He admonished. "But you'd still be wearing that ring." And she nodded as a small blush crept up her neck. "-come on," He pulled himself up, reaching down to offer her a hand. "Lets go home before anyone sees that ring and starts asking questions." Eric let go of her hand, taking a few steps down towards the parking lot before feeling her fingers lace with his, the cool gold of the ring touching the palm of his hand.

Eric didn't turn. He had stopped in his place, his fingers wrapped tightly in her grasp, but he didn't move. She took a step towards him and he could hear the click of her heels as she stepped down one step and then the next, until she was right beside him, looking up at him. He turned his eyes down to their hands and even though he knew that she'd never hurt him intentionally, he could still feel the sting in his shoulder and the tension in his back only got worse, the longer she held on. With a gentle caress against the side of his hand, she let go, taking one more step down and looking back toward him with a smile. "Then let them ask." She stated and he grinned widely feeling the warmth her presence wrap around him as though she'd never left his side.

He nodded, stepping around her almost as though he was about to request she tango with him, ducking his head low to brush his lips against her temple as he crossed to her other side, holding out his good hand for her. And she took it, lifting their hands up between them so that she could watch her pale fingers wrap around his darker ones and with a light tug, he guided her towards her car.

The End.


End file.
